


We Keep Loving Anyway

by SilverLynxx



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Father Figures, Fluff, Insecure PT Barnum, Insecure Phillip Carlyle, Intimate moments, M/M, Many kissies, Past Relationship(s), Phillip will fight anyone who does Anne dirty, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Protective P. T. Barnum, Protective Phillip Carlyle, wholesome banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24650554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverLynxx/pseuds/SilverLynxx
Summary: Phineas looks down into his drink, patiently nursing it in expectant silence.Phillip places his empty glass on the desk, the heat gone from his voice. “I know I’m not the most experienced, but Anne wouldn’t have entrusted me with Rosie if she thought I was incapable...”
Relationships: P. T. Barnum/Phillip Carlyle
Comments: 24
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

Crowds of rowdy showgoers and mobs alike were not an unfamiliar sight at PT Barnum’s Circus. Yet the scene that greets Phineas upon his return from his long weekend away is still enough to bring him pause. 

For one, it is unusual for the crowd on his doorstep to consist entirely of the people on his payroll. Everyone from the performers and dancers to the stagehands, animal handlers and riggers were flocked around a waiting carriage, their voices clamouring one over the other in a worrisome cacophony.

He’s halfway through the throng before anyone seems to realise the senior ringmaster is there, and even then it only makes the task of maneuvering through the crowd marginally easier.

At last, breaching the inner circle of onlookers, he’s greeted by the unanticipated cause of the furor.

WD stands tall and stoic beside the open door of the waiting carriage, his jaw set in a way that hardens his expression and keeps any inner turmoil locked away. Phineas has only seen that indurate expression a handful of times, most memorably when he’d first interviewed the Wheeler siblings and again when WD had come with the troupe to pull him from his sorry state following the fire.

He rests one protective hand on Anne’s shoulder, and Phineas realises he’d completely overlooked her, largely hidden as she is by Phillip’s shoulder as he embraces her. She clutches his jacket in turn, speaking quickly and with a forced steadiness not quite belied by the sheen of her unshed tears and the subtle disarray of her hair and clothing.

Phineas doesn’t know what’s said, only that Anne refuses to relinquish her hold on Phillip until he nods and utters an assurance to her with a rarely seen gravity. Only then does Anne allow WD and Lettie to guide her from his arms and into the waiting carriage.

As the door shuts with a wooden clack and the wheels groan under the stress of the carriage pulling away, Phillip’s voice cuts through the ensuing noise with short directives. It’s clipped, but assertive in a way that makes Phineas’ chest expand with something he could liken to pride.

Dutifully the performers and crew disband and filter back into the circus, their speculative murmurs fading beneath the canvas.

Soon only Phillip and Lettie are left, conversing in low tones in the wake of the vacated carriage, Phillip shaking his head in refute of whatever words of reassurance the woman is offering him. After a brief back and forth Lettie seems to finally relent, and with a wordless pat to Phillip’s shoulder, which Phineas can only interpret as sympathetic, she too enters the tent.

“Well, that was certainly something to return to,” Phineas speaks up at last.

If Phillip had not been aware of his presence, he shows no sign of shock or startlement. Instead, he blows out a lengthy breath.

“Did you have a pleasant weekend with Helen and Caroline?” Phillip asks, as if Phineas hadn’t spoken at all.

He considers the question and decides to humour the man’s deflection.

“It was lovely. I would have rather slept in a stick-shack on the beach than be hosted by Charity’s parents, but otherwise I had a wonderful time. The girls are insisting you come with me to visit next time.”

He comes up to Phillip’s side. “Now, do you mind telling me what that was about, and why I’m missing my headlining trapeze artists?”

 _“Our_ headlining trapeze artists,” Phillip corrects the man’s teasing, more from habit now than annoyance. “They received a telegram this morning. Their mother’s taken ill and requested they visit, just in case she…” the sentence rolls off with an uncomfortable shrug of his shoulder.

Phineas ‘ahs’ in sympathy, rubbing his chin in an absent motion. “All the way to Louisiana? That’s quite a...” He trails off, his line of thought suddenly overcome by a more pressing concern. “What about-” and that’s when he looks down and finally registers the bundle of cloth in the crook of Phillip’s arm, what Anne must have surrendered into Phillip’s care with the sincerest promise he could have sworn her.

Phillip raises his head then to meet Phineas’ questioning stare, and ever so gently rearranges the cloth to reveal the tiny slumbering face of Rosie Anne Wheeler.

\---

Sweeping aside several sheafs of paper, Phineas sets two tumblers down on the cleared desk space and fills each glass with a generous measure of whisky.

“She’ll be fine there?” Phillip asks, and Phineas smiles gaily as if he hasn’t answered the same question not five minutes before.

“Perfectly safe,” he assures again, pressing a glass into Phillip’s hand as they set a watchful eye on the tawny-skinned babe, swaddled in her blanket and cushioned in a nest of pillows on the couch. She looked humorously out of place in their office, and Phineas would have voiced this had Phillip not looked like he was in the process of swallowing rocks.

“So,” he says instead, “Anne left Rosie with you?”

Phillip slumps down into his seat with a lack of decorum usually reserved for their late nights tackling paperwork, and Phineas wonders if the reality of the situation is only just catching up to him.

“She did.”

“I see.”

“So... it would seem for an uncertain length of time I am responsible for a child, an infant…” Phineas has to bite down on his smile when, upon processing the statement, Phillip takes a long swig of whisky with barely a flinch.

“So it would seem,” Phineas repeats gravely.

“I can hear that grin in your voice, you dorbel,” Phillip snipes without heat, and Phineas chuckles openly.

“What about Jonathan?”

Phillip shakes his head at the mention of his valet. “He’s still visiting his family in Queens.”

“Ah. Regardless, I’m sure you’ll be fine-”

_“I know that.”_

Phineas pauses, brows arching as Phillip sits back, abashed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so... I know it’s meant well.”

“But?” 

“But…” Phillip sighs, forehead creasing in frustration. “Between the patronising assurances that people have faith in me and the offers to take care of Rosie in my stead, it feels like no one has any faith in me at all.” 

His expression shifts to something more sullen as he takes another mouthful from his glass, and a part of Phineas can’t help but ponder how familiar and foreign the expression now looked on the younger man’s face. It had once been so commonplace, his perfectly handsome features doured by a brooding demeanor, but it had been almost completely absent in recent months, replaced instead by broad smiles and cheeky smirks and endless exasperation, the latter largely thanks to Phineas. 

Phineas looks down into his drink, patiently nursing it in expectant silence. 

Phillip places his empty glass on the desk, the heat gone from his voice. “I know I’m not the most experienced, but Anne wouldn’t have entrusted me with Rosie if she thought I was incapable...”

They both recognise the wavering certainty as Phillip drifts into silence and grimaces at his own blatant wheedling for consolation. It endears Phineas nonetheless and he swirls his glass thoughtfully, voice lowering to a sincere pitch.

“No, she wouldn’t,” Phineas agrees, and that alone seems to lift a weight of doubt from Phillip’s shoulder.

\---

“Do you have everything you need?”

Shouldering the bag Anne had left for him and tucking his own satchel under his arm, Phillip pops open his umbrella. They stand just inside the mouth of the big top, keeping their attention on each other rather than the conspicuous onlookers busying themselves around the edges of the ring. Phineas cradles the gurgling baby with a sure tenderness, all five of Rosie’s dark little fingers wrapped tightly around one of Phineas’ own in a heartwarming contrast of age and parity.

“I doubt Anne would have left anything unchecked,” Phillip returns wryly, and Phineas chuckles.

“I think you’re probably right.” With that, he gently places Rosie down into the humble baby carriage between them without making any move to extract himself from Rosie’s hold. Partially succeeding in masking a smile at the exchange, Phillip brings his hands to rest almost uncertainly on the stroller’s long wooden handle, running his fingers thoughtfully along it.

When Rosie had been born, Anne had flourished in her new role as they’d all expected - with resilience, grace, and, above all, pride. It made helping provide for their newest addition very difficult, with all offers being kindly but firmly turned down. Phineas had only dared to offer financial assistance once, and after witnessing the lambasting even the likes of Phineas couldn’t escape from, Phillip had slipped his wallet back into his pocket and slunk away, leaving Phineas to his fate. 

Yet the stroller had been a gift from the circus to her that they hadn’t let her refuse. They had chosen one modest in both cost and design, and it was nothing compared to the more splendid options available, like the ornately weaved wicker baskets and chestnut-panelled carriages Phillip himself had languished in as a babe. But it was sturdy, reliable, and brought a remarkable joy to Anne that Phillip had witnessed each and every time he’d accompanied her and Rosie on a walk around the park.

Now it felt strange to be at the helm of it, Rosie babbling away and watching him with large dark eyes through thick fluttering lashes. She would grow to be every bit the beautiful strong-willed woman her mother was, Phillip was certain of it.

Angling the umbrella to shelter Rosie, Phillip nods his farewell to Phineas and starts the stroller towards the open flap, but before he can make it to the threshold of the tent Phineas calls out to him.

“Phillip, wait.” In two strides Phineas is back at his side, hand falling onto Phillip’s shoulder.

“I know you can do this-”

“Phi-”

“But,” he stresses, before Phillip can further interject, “-parenthood, as wonderful and rewarding as it is, is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I know you want to do right by Anne and will care for Rosie as if she were your own, but no one will think less of you if you need to ask for help. I’m here if you need anything, ok?”

Phillip sighs, initial ire visibly doused as he nods with some reluctance, “You’re right... thank you.”

Phineas beams, clapping the man’s shoulder fondly. “Good. Now, I don’t want to see you back here until you and Rosie are settled.” 

Phillip’s lips quirk; “Good thing you just had a holiday in that case,” he remarks. Phineas’ responding laughter is muted by the rain as Phillip steps out of the canvas shelter, leaving the ringmaster and their circus behind him.

* * *

It takes two days with no word from Phillip for Phineas to get restless. He waits with growing agitation for a third day only because Lettie reminds him that Phillip would be less than pleased with Phineas’ lack of trust, and rightly so.

Yet still he finds his usual focus waylaid by distraction, paperwork providing little interest or clarity as he finds himself more often than not lost in thought. 

He couldn’t help but feel slightly offended by Lettie’s accusation. Of course he trusted Phillip. _Unquestionably._ He would trust Phillip with the care of his own daughters in a heartbeat. But still the persistent feeling of unrest wouldn’t leave him. 

It’s during the fourth agonisingly interminable day that it finally clicks, and Phineas has to set aside his pen. He would never doubt Phillip’s capability, like he would never doubt Charity’s, or Anne’s, or his own. Phillip was by all accounts an astute, compassionate, and dependable man.

But when you factored in the demands of a child, few men knew better than Phineas that you needed, at the very least the _knowledge_ , that you had someone to lean on. Charity had had Phineas, and he had had her. Anne had WD and an entire circus willing to uproot the city’s very foundations if she asked it of them. 

And then there was Phillip; Phillip who had his sense of pride and duty and a fear of letting Anne down to keep him ploughing silently onwards. 

So it wasn’t due to mistrust he worried, because he didn’t doubt Rosie was in the safest hands imaginable, but rather he worried for Phillip.

With that thought lingering in the forefront of his mind, Phineas whips his jacket and hat off the hook by the office door. He calls his farewell to the performers as he passes through the ring on his way to the exit, and flashes Charles a smirk as the general throws a quip about part-time workers at his back. Turning up his collar against the brisk autumn wind, he departs the circus in the direction of Phillip’s apartment.

\---

The quiet yet distinct wail of a child greets Phineas as he steps into the stairwell of Phillip’s apartment block. The despairing noise cascades down the staircase as Phineas ascends, resonating off the stone walls as he steps aside to allow a surly faced older couple to pass him by, muttering about the incessant noise.

He follows the cries to Phillip’s door, much clearer now despite the solid wood between himself and whatever scene awaited him on the other side. He gives three heavy knocks to be heard, and waits, tracking Phillip’s hasty approach to the door by the clarity of Rosie’s squalling.

The door is wrenched open. 

“Mrs Pendleton, _please_. I apologise for the noise but— Phineas?”

Both men pause, and Phineas takes in the flustered young man in front of him. His regular grooming routine had seemingly been abandoned as his hair fell in loose strands in a way Phineas had never seen before. His shirt was severely creased, slept in, he assumed, and the collar sat comically askew. He kindly didn’t linger on the spattering of food stains he attributed to grabby little hands. Little hands which currently fisted the fabric of Phillip’s shirt as Rosie dribbled and wailed into his chest.

Yet the most pronounced detail was the exhaustion. It lined Phillip’s face and painted dark circles beneath his eyes, which blinked sluggishly as if a daze, brow furrowed like he was questioning that Phineas was indeed standing in his doorway. 

Abruptly Phillip straightens, free hand running through his hair to restore some semblance of order to it. 

“Phillip,” he greets warmly, as if nothing was amiss. 

“Come to check up on me?” 

The thinly veiled petulance makes Phineas smile. “May I?” he asks instead, hands disarmingly proffered. 

After a brief internal debate he can see taking place, Phillip at last sighs. Shoulders slumping in submission, he gratefully hands Rosie over and stands aside to gesture Phineas inside.

\---

It takes some hours, but Rosie is eventually subdued to quiet babbling and Phillip’s apartment is steadily brought back to a habitable state. Phineas is hanging the last of the freshly washed diaper cloths when Phillip emerges freshly clothed from the bathroom, hair still damp and cheeks flushed with warmth from his bath. 

“Ah, good to see you looking somewhat human again.” Phineas smirks.

Phillip sits at the table with a sour expression. “Don’t be like that,” the ringmaster teases, placing a steaming cup of tea in front of his partner. As expected, the facade promptly falls away as Phillip gratefully cups the warm porcelain in his hands. 

Phineas takes the seat opposite him with his own cup and lets the companionable silence take precedence. By the way Phillip sits with his eyes closed, face angled down towards the warmth of his cup, it’s probably the longest bout of peace he’s had in a while. 

He’s reading the titles of several parenting books piled on the table ( _The Mother at Home, or The Principles of Maternal Duty, Familiarly Illustrated_ by John S.C. Abbott, _The Duties of Parents_ by J. C. Ryle) when Phillip sighs. 

“I don’t know why I thought I could do this,” Phillip mutters, watching Rosie’s small hands wave up at her circus mobile, colourfully painted animals prancing and acrobats twirling slowly above her head. 

“What are you talking about?” Phineas frowns. “You’re doing a fantastic job.” 

Phillip looks at him, incredulous. “Phineas, I’ve barely slept in three days, let alone changed. Rosie has been crying so often the neighbours have threatened to lodge a noise complaint. You’ve been here four hours and managed to do the dishes, the laundry, calm Rosie down, change her diaper, _and_ feed her. How can you possibly say I’m doing well?”

“Well, those last two are what really calmed her down, so that really shouldn’t be credited as its own task,” Phineas reasons, chuckling when Phillip releases an annoyed breath. 

Taking a long sip of his tea, Phineas wordlessly places the cup down in front of him, props his elbows on the table, and leans forward to regard Phillip with an unsettlingly pensive expression. “Have I ever told you about the time I mistook Caroline for a bag of flour?”

Phillip stares, experiencing a farrago of reactions which fail to overcome his visible dumbfoundment. “I… can’t say that you have…” 

Phineas sits back in his seat with a surprised ‘ah’, as if this was a careless oversight on his part. “In that case, allow me to explain. Caroline’s birth took a substantial toll on Charity; she was exhausted and very sick for some weeks after. Even then, it was difficult getting her to stay in bed for the recommended nine days let alone anymore than that. But I was adamant she should rest. So, for the first week of her life Caroline was my full responsibility. It was without question the most terrifying and difficult experience I’ve ever had, to suddenly be responsible for this tiny, vulnerable little life that’s dependent on you getting things right.”

Phillip listens with undivided interest, and even Rosie’s gurgling has subsided, seemingly enraptured by the gentle baritone of storytime. 

“I was five days in, exhausted, discouraged, and very _very_ tired. I remember I was putting away groceries while trying to shush Caroline so Charity could sleep, so when I finally got her to settle I went to sit down with her - just for a few minutes. Next thing I know Charity is nudging me awake and asking me where Caroline is, and of course I say ‘She’s right here’. “Phineas sighs. “I will never forget the way she looked at me and said ‘Phin. That’s a bag of flour.’” 

A bark of laughter erupts from Phillip, and Phineas’ perfectly serious facade bleeds away into an open grin. 

“You were holding a bag of flour?” Phillip manages to gasp between breaths.

“Looking back, I should have been more suspicious about how complacent she was being,” Phineas chuckles. They share a matching, understanding grin as Phillip slowly regains his composure.. 

“I have to ask, where was Caroline?” 

“Well, it took five minutes of searching, but we eventually found her in the cupboard napping next to the potatoes, happy as you please.”

Phillip sniggers into his cup, and Phineas is pleased to see the man’s mood seems genuinely lifted.

“On a more serious note,” Phineas continues, “you’ve taken on the full-time care of a very young child with no warning or preparation. In my opinion, you are doing spectacularly.” 

Phillip’s thumb rubs across the rim of his cup, and Phineas recognises the signs of shyness as Phillip keeps his gaze averted and mumbles a sincere thank you.

Taking pity on his partner, Phineas drains his last mouthful of tea and stands from the table. 

“Well, I best be off.” 

Phillip rises as well, standing patiently by as Phineas peers into Rosie’s carriage and plants a kiss on the back of her tiny hand. “Goodnight, little darling. You be good for Phillip,” he sweetly chides, then steps back and walks alongside Phillip down the hallway.

Donning his hat and coat while Phillip opens the door for him, they both hesitate on the threshold. 

“Thank you,” Phillip says again after a moment. 

“Any time,” Phineas returns. 

They pause, like they’re both waiting for the other to speak. 

“Well then, I sh-” 

“Will you be stopping by again?” 

They awkwardly chuckle as they talk over one another. “Sorry.” 

Phineas brushes off the apology, “If I would not be intruding, I would be very happy to drop in again,” he answers carefully.

Phillip tuts at the reply, as if Phineas was a fool for thinking otherwise. “Of course you wouldn’t be.” 

“Then tomorrow?”

Phillip nods, lips quirking upwards ever so slightly. “Tomorrow,” he agrees. 

“Very well then, have a good night.”

“Good night, Phin.” 

As Phineas makes his way down the stairs, he’s accompanied only by the sound of his footsteps echoing off the walls. He smiles.

* * *

When he enters the circus the next morning he greets everyone as normal, passing through the ring and pointedly ignoring the inquisitive looks and casual enquiries about his ‘errand’ the day before. 

He’s just settling down at his desk when there’s a light rapping on the office door and Lettie is closing it behind her before he’s even finished saying ‘come in’. 

“So,” the bearded woman starts, taking a seat in the chair in front of Phineas’ desk. “How is he?”

“How’s who?” He parries innocently.

“Don’t play games with me, Phineas Taylor Barnum,” Lettie admonishes. “How’s Rosie and Phillip?” 

“They’re fine, of course. As I knew they would be.”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Lettie huffs. “You were just as antsy about how he would manage as the rest of us, _more so,_ in my book.” 

Phineas straightens in defense. “I never once doubted him,” he protests. “Rosie is perfectly safe with Phillip.” 

“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a bunch,” Lettie sighs. “No one thought he was going to forget Rosie in a bar or something, but he’s barely more than a boy himself.”

“He’s a thirty year old man.” 

Lettie merely shrugs and smiles as Phineas rolls his eyes, unable to stifle a smirk. 

“You coddle him,” he accuses.

“He needs it,” Lettie returns airily. 

Well, she certainly had him there. 

“In any case, he’s not doing badly at all, just a few rough nights by the looks of it.” 

Lettie clicks her tongue sympathetically. “Poor thing, probably all out of sorts without her mama. I hope Anne and W.D are doing alright.”

“I’m sure they’re fine. They’re likely halfway to New Orleans by now. I imagine we can expect a telegram letting us know they arrived safely.” 

Lettie hums, adjusting her shawl around her shoulders. “Are you going to see Phillip again?” 

“I said I would stop in tonight,” he confirms, absently rifling through some papers in his desk drawer; Phillip had insisted he find the income statements he’d meant to hand over the week before. 

Lettie smiles knowingly, an expression that would have made Phineas suspicious had he not been skimming paperwork. The woman rises from the chair. 

“I’m glad you boys are looking out for each other. Tell Phillip we all say hi,” she requests on her way to the door. Phineas glances up briefly with an oblivious smile. 

“Of course, Lettie. Have a good rehearsal.”

The woman leaves, shaking her head fondly as she closes the door behind her.

* * *

The stairwell is blissfully quiet save for the pattering of rain against the building as Phineas makes his way up to Phillip’s apartment. It starts to strike Phineas as odd when he still can’t make out the slightest peep nor the barest shuffle of movement, even when standing outside Phillip’s front door after a succession of gentle knocks. 

He knocks a little harder, hesitant to be too loud should Rosie be sleeping, but he finds the lack of response unusual. Had Phillip forgotten he was coming? Or taken Rosie out for a walk and been delayed?

Waiting a moment longer, Phineas glances up and down the empty corridor before trying the doorknob, lips pressed into a tight line. To his surprise, the door opens with a click, and Phineas steps into the apartment. 

The warmth of the dwindling fire in the living room grate washes over him as he removes his hat, scanning the room which seemed undisturbed; a parenting book lay open on the coffee table next to a cup of coffee left to grow cold. 

“Phillip?” 

The silence is unsettling, and beyond the light of the fire the rest of the apartment is dark. Setting his hat on a side table, Phineas begins making his way through the rooms for any sign of Phillip or Rosie. Without any luck, he stops at Phillip’s bedroom door which sits, quite unusually, wide open. 

It’s there he finally makes out Phillip in the darkness, a street lamp outside providing just enough light to distinguish the younger man’s figure reclined against the headboard, cushioned by a small mound of pillows. 

He’s breathing softly, asleep, and Phineas is just about to leave the man to rest when something catches his eye. A step closer and Phineas realises with a rush of heat to his cheeks that Phillip’s shirt is unbuttoned, and more so open to reveal the pale private skin of his chest and abdomen. But a different emotion starts to proliferate in the depths of his chest when he discovers Rosie, equally bare save for her diaper cloth and protectively cradled in Phillip’s arms, slumbering flush against Phillip’s skin.

Phineas can’t immediately will himself to leave, too struck by the tenderness of the scene before him. It instills, no, unearths a infinitude of feelings and thoughts that seem too loud for the quiet comfort of the bedroom, so Phineas removes himself, stripping off his coat and heading to the kitchen to busy his idle hands.

\---

Feeling more collected a short time later, Phineas returns to the bedroom, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed so he can reach across and touch Phillip’s shoulder.

The man wakes with a start, and Phineas hushes him. “It’s just me,” he reassures him as Phillip peers blearily up at him, eyes struggling to open.

“Phineas?” Phillip sighs sleepily, pressing his palm to his eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.

“Looks like you needed it.” Phineas returns easily. “Both of you.” 

Brows drawing together, Phillip looks down, breath catching in embarrassment when he realises his state of undress and his no doubt questionable position.

“Ah, I-” he clears his throat, “I was reading a book proposing some interesting if rather...unconventional methods of child rearing during the early stages of development. Of course it was intended for the- the uh- mothers themselves, but the research into the emotional benefits for the child seemed sound, and I didn’t want to disregard it completely if it could benefit Rosie.”

Phineas listens with quiet interest, taking care not to react at all to the admission Phillip had put himself into an implicitly maternal position. That alone seems to ease Phillip’s subtly fluctuating agitation; Phineas had no doubt that many men in Phillip’s prior circles would have had something to say about it.

“It sounds progressive. What was this research?” Phineas prompts, and Phillip looks down at the babe, brushing a thumb over her dark downy curls.

“That prolonged skin to skin contact provides more comfort for the infant and encourages a stronger bond. In theory, it should improve their sleep and general wellbeing in other areas of development, but I thought with Anne gone, the least I could give Rosie was as much comfort as possible.” 

The sentiment is sweet and beautifully compassionate, stirring up a nostalgic feeling in Phineas. It reminds him of Charity, and the times she cradled their newborn daughters to her breast with a look so tranquil and complete it touched him in unexplainable ways. “And how is it for you?” he asks, curious. 

Phillip goes quiet, and Phineas is unsure if he’s going to answer. Then, quite softly, he admits, “It’s really nice.” 

Phineas smiles. “I wish I’d thought to do the same with my girls.” 

They sit in comfortable silence, listening to Rosie’s delicate snuffles. Phillip has just begun to doze again when Phineas clears his throat and says, not without an underlying rumble of amusement, “I think I should go and prepare her a bottle.”

Before Phillip can question him, Phineas inclines his head with an unbridled grin. “Someone’s hungry.”

A quick glance down and Phillip’s face blushes hotly upon discovering Rosie had latched and was now fruitlessly trying to nurse from him. 

“Stop sniggering and go make that bottle!” Phillip hisses, trying to cuff Phineas who deftly avoids his swipe and backpedals from the room, his chuckling audible even from the kitchen. 

\---

They relocate to the parlour once Phineas returns. Phillip, now properly dressed, sits on the sofa with Rosie fussing in the crook of his arm, offering her the bottle while Phineas attempts to reignite the fireplace. 

Dusting off his knees with the fire lit, Phineas takes his seat in the armchair. He's about to re-engage Phillip in conversation when he stops short, taken in quite suddenly by the tranquil scene. Warmly lit by the fireplace, Phillip looks sweet and youthful as the light catches his eyes and plays across his face; his often stern expression softened as he murmured nonsense to Rosie and rocked her gently.

“I always thought this would be you.”

“Sorry?”

Phillip looks up, brows knitted together in puzzlement, and Phineas realises he’d spoken aloud. Well, there was no avoiding it now, he supposed.

“I mean, Rosie, Anne.” He works his throat, uncertain if he is treading on too sensitive a topic. “Even just a year ago, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find you in this very same position. You were captivated by each other the moment you met; you adore Anne and Rosie without measure. Had he never come into the picture, I would have never had any doubt that she was yours.” 

Phillip is quiet for a long, tense moment, gazing down at Rosie with a distant expression. A rare apology is on the tip of Phineas’ tongue when Phillip beats him to it.

“Sometimes I wish she was,” he admits, and even though the response is almost expected, it twists oddly in Phineas’ chest. “If only to ensure Rosie grew up with a devoted father. And Anne was wed and loved and supported for all her life ahead of her.” He inhales deeply, letting it out in a shuddering breath. “She deserves better. She _deserved_ better.” 

Phineas nods in solemn agreement, “She did.”

“Even though we both realised there were things we couldn’t change and it was best to end our relationship, I despised myself for hurting her.” 

Phineas hums sympathetically. He recalled that time clearly; it had been tumultuous and tense, and for quite a few nights he’d found himself staying late in the office with a despondent Phillip and several glasses of whisky. 

“When I introduced Roberts to her I never considered anything developing between them. But when it did...he treated her so kindly, and Anne looked so happy after so long, I thought...this was it, this was the happy ending she deserved…”

“It’s not your fault, Phil.”

Phillip snorts. “I should have known better,” he mutters. “I’d known Roberts since university, he’d always been a respectable character and a good friend. But I know what men from my world are like, and Anne… Anne was beautiful and enchanting and untouchable. He probably couldn’t resist the challenge.” Phillip’s lip curls unpleasantly. 

“He’s shown his true colours now. He’ll think twice about showing his face at the circus again.”

“He wouldn’t dare. He knows what will happen if I see him back in New York.” 

The tone in the younger man’s voice is one Phineas has never heard before. “It sounds like there’s a story there.” 

Phillip takes a minute to mull over whether to tell Phineas or not, then he sighs. “Do you remember the day Anne told us what happened?” 

How could Phineas forget? He’d never seen Anne so broken; kneeling crumpled in the ring amongst concerned friends while trying desperately to stop the tears from falling. The glorious news that she was pregnant had raced through the circus amidst excited chatter, only to be quickly followed by the bitter revelation that Samuel Roberts wasn’t sticking around. Anne had been distraught, and, in defense of one of their own, the circus had fostered a defensive and hostile atmosphere for several days after.

Taking Phineas’ grim silence for confirmation, Phillip continues. “Remember how I was late the next day without explanation?” 

Phineas nods. 

“WD had to come pay my bail at the police station.” 

“You were _arrested?”_ Phineas stares at Phillip wide-eyed, as if seeing him in a new light for the first time. But there’s a deep-seated vengeance in his tone that demands an explanation, sensing the promise of long-denied satisfaction. “What did you do?”

“It was by chance; or fate, if you prefer. I was on my way to the circus the next morning when I saw him, walking into the train station looking completely invulnerable, as if he hadn’t just crushed a perfectly innocent woman beneath his foot. Next thing I know I’m beside him on the platform and...I hit him.” 

Phillip laughs, a short sharp sound. “I suppose that’s an understatement. My report officially says I _‘set upon him like an animal’._ I just remember being so _enraged_. I would have dragged us both onto the tracks had I not been pulled off him.” He takes a breath. “But I was able to do Anne some justice. He apparently arrived at his destination with a fractured arm, dislocated shoulder, two black eyes courtesy of a broken nose, and a big fat split lip. I’m sure he made quite the picture on his wedding day.”

“Wedding day?” Phineas breathes, expression contorting into something more perturbed. Phillip’s own darkens. 

“I discovered through a mutual friend that Roberts was actually moving to Maine to settle down with his fianceé. He was getting married the next day.”

There’s a beat of thick, unpleasant silence. 

“Does Anne know?”

“God, no. Having her believe he was just a pithless coward is one thing, but to have her know it was all a lie from the beginning? I could never do that to her, Phineas. Please, she can’t find out.” 

Phineas raises his hands in a placating gesture, but Phillip is already distracted by Rosie who starts to squirm and whimper. Immediately his expression softens as he murmurs reassurances to her, cradling her with a tenderness that made it difficult to believe he was a man capable of enacting violence like he’d just described. 

It was a surreal feeling, watching Phillip cosset another man’s offspring so adoringly, especially knowing the lowest of scum he’d turned out to be, more so than Phineas himself had known. But in a way it seemed only right, because Phillip could no more put the sins of the father onto a child than Phineas could. 

“Thank you, for telling me.” 

Phillip looks up, stroking the back of Rosie’s hand as she holds tight to his thumb. He nods his head without anything more to say, and Phineas understands.

They’d shared many silences together, but this is the most heavy and thoughtful, broken only by brief, intermittent conversation.

Phineas decides it’s time to take his leave when Rosie begins to give wide sleepy yawns. Collecting his things, Phillip sees him out, Rosie repositioned against his shoulder for support as he holds the door open for Phineas. 

“Are you going to be ok?” Phineas asks, standing at the threshold of the apartment. The dark cloud that had beset the room hadn’t fully dissipated, but the tension in Phillip’s brow had since drained and been replaced by something akin to weariness. 

“I’ll be fine,” he assures Phineas. He offers a small smile as he gently bounces Rosie who burbles into his shoulder, one tiny fist rubbing her eye. “Are you going to say goodnight to Uncle Phin?” he coos. 

Phineas chuckles and leans forward, planting a light kiss on the baby’s crown. “You be a good girl,” he hums into her hair. Then, as he makes to stand up straight, without thinking of the fleeting impulse that urges him forward, he presses a featherlight kiss to Phillip’s lips as well.

Phillip inhales sharply and Phineas jerks back as if burnt. “I- ah - goodnight, Phillip,” he bids in a rush of breath. With a curt nod, Phineas touches the brim of his hat and retreats swiftly down the corridor without looking back.


	2. Chapter 2

The circus is closed the next day, which proves to be as much a blessing as a curse when Phineas is left to idle alone with his thoughts. Phillip only lived several blocks from his townhouse, but he doesn’t dare think of the man right now, let alone contemplate a visit. 

Yet as much as he tries to will thoughts of Phillip and his grievous stupidity from his mind, it only seems to possess him further. Pacing between his armchair and his desk, he struggles to focus on a single task, thumbing through sketches and distractedly skimming a book he can’t recall the title of. He tries to write; new songs, slogans, acts, anything at all, but any attempt ends up amongst the growing pile of paper balls at his feet. He manages to make it half-way through a letter to Charity and his girls before he realises he’s stopped writing altogether, pencil still pressed to paper as he stares out the window contemplating the ghost of Phillip’s lips against his own. He’s sure he can still feel their lingering warmth. 

The paper crumples easily in his hand and he drops the unfinished letter into the bin without a second thought. 

Phineas eats dinner alone, the silence an oppressive weight that stifles the room, then crawls into bed despite the early hour. He falls asleep to the sound of the rain against his window. 

\---

Waking up early the next morning, Phineas idles in his restlessness until noon. It’s at that point he decides he can’t stand to be pent-up alone in his apartment a moment longer. It’s his last day off before their weekend of shows, but that doesn’t stop Phineas from pulling on his coat, grabbing his umbrella, and venturing out towards the circus.

* * *

The weather takes a turn towards the torrential and Phineas’ trousers are soaked up to his shins by the time he hurries into the circus. The tent is quieter than he anticipates, even while officially closed. He’d come to expect at least a few performers to be mingling; if not rehearsing in their own time, then at least socialising or playing a game of cards in the stands. He doesn’t stop to ponder this, however, and instead strides towards his office, intent on burrowing himself in circus affairs and perhaps a finger of whisky if he feels so inclined. He’s so focused on his immediate plans that he doesn’t notice the baby carriage tucked behind the stairs as he ascends them, nor does he register the voices and laughter until he’s pushing open the door to an astoundingly crowded office. 

There are oddities on nearly every surface and occupying any available floor space. Vasile sits hunched in the armchair, knees up to his ears, with Charles perched on the arm. The Voodoo twins lean against a side table, framing Fedor the Dog Boy who crouches on top. The fire breathers, Sasha and Hestia, sit on his desk, papers neatly cleaned away, while Nea and Julius, their gold make-up absent and deep scars comfortably exposed, lounge in his and Phillip’s office chairs. Jeremy stands with his hip cocked against Phillip’s desk, and Frank, Sal, and Pina crowd the space around him. Demetri, the strong man, and his tattooed wife, Adriane, stand alongside Chang and Eng behind the couch, which snuggly seated Constantine, the albino twins, and Lettie inbetween, who held a joyously giggling Rosie. 

Which meant…

He locks on to Phillip in an instant, standing at the very back of the room next to the furnace and looking right back at Phineas with a single raised brow. 

“I’m glad everyone has made themselves comfortable,” Phineas remarks. Even to his own ears he sounds believably calm and jovial, which is good enough for Phineas as he quickly diverts his attention to anywhere but Phillip. 

“Told ya he wouldn’t manage two days away from this place,” Tom smirks, holding his hand out to Constantine who reluctantly passes over some coins. 

“I thought you boys would have come in together, since you’re both here,” Lettie remarks. Her face scrunches up in joy as Rosie giggles hysterically, watching Florence and Mary with fascination as they take turns hiding behind their wild snowy ringlets in a game of peek-a-boo. 

“I didn’t actually know Phillip and Rosie were going to be visiting today.” He must smile a fraction too tightly as Phillip silently snorts out the corner of his eye. 

“Since we _are_ here, may I speak to you for a moment?” Phillip is already moving deftly through the room of bodies and past Phineas towards the door before he can think of a means of refusal. “You don’t mind watching Rosie for a little bit, do you?” 

The clamour of assent from all directions is enough to consign Phineas to the inevitable conversation that awaited him. Forcing a smile, he walks out the door Phillip is holding open for him and waits until he’s closed it behind them. They walk along the gangway and down the stairs in silence.

“So, were you planning on avoiding me forever?” Phillip asks, breaking the silence before it grew too suffocating. 

“Until the end of the week at least.” He knows his attempt at humour has fallen flat when Phillip’s frown deepens. “I’m sorry.”

“For the kiss?”

Phineas balks at Phillip’s unexpected directness, his stomach experiencing a sharp descent inside him with nauseating corollary. “It was an accident.” 

Phillip stops, his expression indecipherable; it makes Phineas nervous. 

“An accident?” he enquires in a surprisingly conversational tone. 

“Purely a matter of habit,” Phineas insists, all while waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I must have kissed Charity and the girls goodbye countless times in that manner. I did it without even thinking. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable, it won’t happen again, I assure you.” 

Phillip is quiet for a long moment, lips curved in a near imperceptible frown. Eventually, he nods, a short and subtle movement. 

“I- thank you, Phineas, for clearing things up. I hope you’ll still visit, after the weekend, of course. I’ve been told it’s going to be a busy one.” 

Phineas smiles brightly, relief evident as the worst of the conversation passes. “Of course I will.” 

Phillip nods again, mouth opening as if he has the intention of saying something more. Instead, without another word, he turns on his heels back to the office, leaving Phineas where he stood.

Staring at Phillip’s quickly retreating back, Phineas gets the sinking feeling the conversation hadn’t gone as well as he’d first thought. 

\---

Phineas returns to the office shortly after, but there’s no getting any work done with every oddity underfoot. Instead, he breaks out his cheaper liquor and enjoys the spirited company, the room filled with boundless laughter, jokes, and anecdotes as Rosie’s passed around for coddling and cuddles.

It’s an hour or two later - after several of the troupe have filtered out and Lettie has tackled a diaper change on Phillip’s behalf - that Phillip wrestles Rosie off of Constantine’s moustache and sits her in the crook of his arm. 

“I think it’s time for us to head off, I’ve still got to get this one to nap before dinner if I want to sleep this evening.” 

The fire breathers sigh adoringly, and Phineas doesn’t believe it’s over Rosie this time as Phillip gently bounces and coos at the smiling babe. 

“You’ve done so well with her, Phillip. I’m sorry if it ever seemed like we doubted you,” Khaalida says without preamble, taking Phillip by surprise. His gaze flits across the faces of all the other performers who murmur in agreement, and his responding smile is the most sincere Phineas has observed since their return to the office 

“It means a lot to hear that, thank you.” 

Lettie beams like a beacon at his side, and Phineas is sure if she inflated herself with any more pride she’d be at risk of popping. 

“Come on, let’s get you and the little one home,” she fusses, shooing bodies aside and ushering Phillip towards the door. “Phineas, you can get the carriage,” she instructs, causing the ringmaster’s eyebrows to jump towards his hairline. 

Grinning, Phineas waves Demetri down as the strong man stands to take his place, and affably follows the woman’s instruction. Retrieving the stroller from behind the stairs, he wheels it over to where Lettie and Phillip stand talking at the entrance, the rain thundering down onto the pavement outside. 

“Looks like a downpour out there,” he remarks, stopping the carriage in front of Phillip so he can tuck Rosie in with a quiet thanks. 

“Are you sure you’ll be ok?” Lettie frets, looking between the lashing rain and the carriage. Phillip pops open his umbrella and rearranges it over the stroller, handle tucked into the basket to form a protective cover. 

“I’m only a few blocks,” Phillip reassures, “Rosie won’t even get a cold nose.” 

“And what about you?” Phineas protests. “You’ve only got a jacket. Take my umbrella, at least.”

Phillip waves him off. “It’s not necessary, I’ll be fine,” he insists, ignoring Phineas’ frown. 

“Monday?” Phineas says instead, rewarded when Phillip finally looks at him, his forehead creased with confusion. “I’ll stop by Monday evening, after the show,” he clarifies. Phillip’s expression clears, though he doesn’t look as enthused as Phineas would have hoped.

“Monday will be fine,” Phillip agrees. He turns and pecks Lettie on the cheek, saying more earnestly, “It was lovely seeing you.”

“And you too, hun. You come back soon now, you hear? Don’t be keeping that little chick all to yourself,” she warns, rubbing his arm affectionately. “Now get going, before it turns into a flood.”

Phillip nods in agreement, bowing his head against the rain and fleeing the shelter of the circus. The rain bounces fiercely off the umbrella and Phillip is easily drenched through in seconds; they watch him in silence until he and the carriage disappear around the corner and out of sight. 

Phineas is unprepared for the smack Lettie lands on his arm and jerks more from surprise than any genuine pain.

“Ow! What was that for?” He huffs.

“I don’t know what you did, PT, but you better fix it,” the woman orders, levelling him with a firm stare. Phineas doesn’t pout; he doesn’t. 

“I’ll try,” he assures her, even though he doesn’t know what he’s promising to try and fix. It placates Lettie anyway. Patting the spot she’d smacked him moments before, she heads back towards the office.

Phineas sighs and follows, preparing himself for the task of salvaging what remained of his liquor. 

* * *

It’s early Monday morning, just past one, Phineas would wager, when he finally makes it home. Sunday is always their biggest performance, with every seat and stand packed shoulder to shoulder and people spilling into the aisles. It was also their latest show and the one most often to run over. And afterwards, after everything was cleaned and reset and costumes and make-up removed, they shared a customary drink or three to celebrate another successful week.

Phineas’ is only mildly tipsy as he shucks his coat and hat and nearly falls over removing his shoes. He stumbles into the bedroom and lets his shirt and trousers fall in a trail towards the bed, finally dropping face first into the duvet in his undershirt, smallclothes, and socks. He’s snoring before he hits the mattress.

\---

He’s jerked awake quite suddenly by a rapid banging thundering through the house, and it takes Phineas a moment to realise it’s coming from the front door. Stumbling from his bed and through the pitch-black rooms with a curse, he fumbles for the handle and pulls the door open.

There’s a young man he doesn’t recognise on the other side, a coat thrown over his night clothes and hair a tousled mess. He’s breathing heavily, as if having run a great distance to get here. 

“F-Forgive me for my intrusion, Mr Barnum.” The man gasps. “I am Edward Holden, Mr Pendleton’s valet. Mr Carlyle urgently requests your presence. He has concerns about the infant’s welfare.” 

Phineas can’t recall what goes through his mind in the time that follows, only that he sends the valet away and rushes to dress. The clock in the hallway reads 3:04am when he passes it on his way out.

* * *

“Phillip?” Phineas knocks firmly on the door, startled when it’s immediately wrenched open to reveal Phillip, looking pale and distraught. He can hear Rosie crying in the other room, an exhausted, miserable wail that makes his heart cinch.

“Phineas, thank God.”

Phineas steps in quickly, throwing his hat and coat onto the armchair. 

“What happened?” 

Phillip closes the door behind him. 

“There- there was an incident after we left the circus. I rushed home and got Rosie dried up as quickly as I could and she seemed perfectly fine, a small sniffle, maybe, but then she got this terrible temperature and yesterday she just got worse and worse. She’s been like this for hours and I can’t get her to stop crying. I-I didn’t know what to do.” 

“Phillip,” he puts a firm hand on the man’s shoulder, giving him a brusque shake until fraught blue eyes finally meet his own. In a low, calm voice he instructs him. “Go fill a basin, lukewarm water, then prepare Rosie a bottle with a single drop of brandy *****. When you’ve done that, sit and calm down.” 

He releases Phillip and the man makes a beeline for the kitchen to do as requested. With that addressed, he enters Phillip’s bedroom, approaching the baby carriage in the corner where Rosie’s forlorn cries vent without pause. 

“Hey hey hey, little darling,” he hushes softly to no avail. Rosie’s face contorts further, wrinkled and red with unhappiness and her cheeks wet with tears. She thrashes her arms with another long-suffering wail. “Oh, angel, you are not happy, are you?” Phineas murmurs, pressing his hand gently to her forehead and frowning when her skin proves hot to the touch. He’s now positive they’re dealing with a fever. Continuing to hum and hush Rosie, Phineas rolls up his sleeves and begins removing her nightdress and diaper cloth. Then, cradling her in one arm, Phineas carries the still squalling infant to the kitchen where Phillip restlessly paces, a small tin basin, a prepared baby bottle, and a towel sitting on the table. 

“Is that alright?” Phillip asks quickly as Phineas tests the water. 

“It’s perfect; go sit in the parlour.” 

“But-”

“Phillip, you called me here because you needed help, and right now I need you to do what I say when I say it.” He knows he’s being terse with Phillip, and it bedevilled Phineas when all he wanted to do was reassure him. But it would be impossible to work with Phillip, as anxious and exhausted as he was, under his feet, so he forces himself to ignore the defeat in Phillip’s posture as he reluctantly leaves the room.

That done, he gives Rosie his full attention, her cries compounding off the walls and high ceiling. “Ooh, I know, I know, it will be over soon, I promise,” Phineas soothes as he lowers the squirming babe into the basin. He holds her upright with one hand as he scoops the tepid water over her chest and shoulders with the other, gently brushing his hand over her hair and forehead to dampen the heated skin. He patiently and attentively bathes Rosie until her forceful wails become quieter gasping cries, then withdraws her from the basin and into the towel before the water can grow too cold. 

Swaddling her in the fluffy cotton cloth and swaying gently, Phineas manages to coax the bottle teat into Rosie’s mouth between cries, satisfied when she suckles briefly. With Rosie settled against his chest, moaning miserable into his shoulder with large teary eyes peering up at him, he goes in search of Phillip.

He’s relieved to find the man where he’d told him to be, though a part of Phineas aches when he sees Phillip hunched over on the sofa, head in his hands and hair tousled from where he’s no doubt gripped it by the fistful. 

Phillip’s head whips up as soon as he hears Rosie’s despairing whimpers, and the man looks on the brink of tears himself. 

“Is Rosie ok?” He’s on his feet in the next breath. “Do we need to get a doctor? Please Phin-” 

“It’s a fever,” he tells him gently, but firmly, so the man would stop and listen. “A pretty bad one, but not severe. She’ll tire herself out eventually, and then she’ll hopefully be out for a good long while as she recovers.” 

Phillip lets out a shuddering breath, nodding in understanding. 

“You should go to bed.”

Phillip shakes his head fiercely. “I can’t possibly go to bed, Phineas,” he interjects, “Anne trusted me, and now Rosie’s sick, I can’t...I can’t just-”

“Phillip.”

His mouth snaps shut.

“You’re tired. _I’m_ tired. But I’m also more clear-headed than you are right now. I need you to go to bed, rest, and be ready and able to care for Rosie tomorrow. She’s going to need you.”

They stare each other down for several long moments until Phillip finally drops his gaze. 

“You’re right,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, I’m just…”  
  
“Terrified?” Phineas offers, softer now. “I know. I was too the first time Caroline was sick, and every time after that. And then Helen came along and it was the same worry all over again.” He pats Phillip’s shoulder, guiding him in the direction of the bedroom. “Go, sleep.” He orders more fondly, and this time Phillip goes without argument. 

\---

It’s deep into the morning when Rosie eventually begins to settle. It takes Phineas hours of cradling and shushing, intermittent bottle feeds, two more short baths, brief lulls in wailing, and gently sponging her brow with a cool damp cloth until Rosie at last falls into a deep sleep against his shoulder. Even then he walks with her for a while longer before finally laying her down to rest in her basket. 

Pressing a light hand to her forehead, Phineas begins to breathe easier for the first time since arriving. 

He turns to the bed where Phillip lies on top of the duvet, snoring softly and faintly illuminated by the pre-dawn light bleeding in the window. Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, reminiscent of the night he’d last caught Phillip asleep, he reaches over and lightly shakes him awake.

Phillip grunts quietly, eyes heavy and unfocused. “Phineas? ”He jerks upright, and Phineas presses him back down with a hand to his shoulder. 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. She’s asleep. The fever’s broken.” 

It takes him a moment for Phineas’ words to process, but when they do, Phillip sags back into the pillows with a heavy shuddering sigh of relief. 

“Thank you, Phineas…God....” 

“Just Phineas is fine,” he replies cheekily, and Phillip swats at him half-heartedly. “So, do you want to talk about what happened?” 

Phillip’s smile wavers and he turns to stare up at the ceiling, his expression one of shame. “I tipped her carriage,” he admits quietly. Phineas tamps down a noise of surprise, suppressing the questions that immediately surge to the tip of his tongue; allowing Phillip to continue in his own time. The younger man’s expression is pained, and Phineas already knows he’s wrestling with immeasurable guilt.

“We-” he clears his throat. “We were travelling up Rutgers Street on our way home. The sidewalk was a nightmare; full of people pushing to get out of the rain, hailing cabs, rushing in and out of shops. The rain was so heavy it was hard to see... I must have strayed too far to the edge of the sidewalk because the next thing I knew Rosie’s stroller was tipping onto the road.”

Phineas’ breath catches. “But she was ok?”

Phillip nods. “I was able to catch her before she fell. The carriage got a bit banged up and I landed pretty badly on my knees, but it was the buggy rushing past which really shook me. I don’t think we were even a foot away from the wheels when it went past, and it kicked up enough water to cover us both.” 

“Land sakes, Phillip, why didn’t you come back to the circus?”

“I don’t know.” Phillip swallows the lump in his throat. “I didn’t even move until a stranger pulled me to my feet. Rosie was cold and crying, and all I could think to do was get her home and dry. Even now I can’t stop thinking about what would have happened if I hadn’t caught her, or if that buggy had been a fraction closer.” Phineas can feel Phillip’s shudder through the mattress at the thought. “It’s been a week, Phineas, and I’ve done nothing but endanger her.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Phillip,” Phineas cuts in sharply, startling the younger man. Rosie makes a quiet noise from the corner and both men stiffen, holding their breaths until Rosie sighs and settles again. Phineas lowers his voice but speaks no less adamantly. “It’s the shock and exhaustion making you think like that; no parent is perfect, and I damn well tried to be.” Phineas takes a breath, tone softening. “Accidents will always happen, no matter how much you try to protect them.” 

Phillip nods, but doesn’t look convinced. 

Phineas sighs and gently squeezes Phillip’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt. 

“Phillip, I don’t believe Anne left Rosie with you because she thought you were the most experienced, or even the most capable. She had a whole circus of people to choose from, many of whom have raised children of their own.” 

Phillip grimaces as if Phineas’ words physically sting, laden as they are with truth.

“But...” He pauses and waits for Phillip to look reluctantly back at him; his voice is low and earnest as he continues. “I believe she chose you because she knew no one would care for Rosie like you would. You have the same look that Charity had, that she still has, when her children are concerned. The look that I know I have. That look that tells me without a doubt that you would face down any danger if it meant protecting that little girl.” 

Phillip stares, lips slightly parted, and against the dark backdrop of the bedroom Phineas can see the blue of his eyes caught by the growing light outside the window. It plays on the swell of his high cheekbones and the sharp line of his nose, softening the shadows across his brow and at the corners of his mouth.

“Phineas?” Phillip asks in a whisper. 

“Mhm?”

“Can you kiss me?” 

For just a moment it feels like time between them slows to a near imperceptible stop. Phineas’ mouth works soundlessly, unable to muster anything more than a gently questioning “Phillip?”

“Please,” he replies just as quietly. 

Stirred by his plea, Phineas slowly, uncertainly, braces his hands on the mattress and leans over Phillip, gazing down at his partner with a sense of awe and a flutter in his chest. Giving Phillip the chance to reconsider, Phineas finally closes the remaining distance between them, bringing their lips together in a tentative first kiss.

Phillip melts beneath him, sinking deeper into the pillows with a pleased sigh as Phineas presses closer in response. He reaches for Phillip’s face and fans his fingers through his chestnut hair, thumb caressing the curve of Phillip’s cheek as he briefly draws back and layers the man’s flushed mouth with short sweet kisses. 

Withdrawing fully, Phineas takes his time to appreciate the sight laid out beneath him; pale skin pinked with warmth, soft lips plumped and parted, and dark hooded eyes staring right back up at him with the same sense of awe Phineas feels binding his chest and leaving him breathless.

“Thank you,” Phillip murmurs with the twitch of a playful smile, and Phineas chuckles low and husky. 

“You’re welcome.”

He doesn’t even realise Phillip has his fingers tangled in his shirt until he’s tugging gently on the material, just enough to bring Phineas back in for another earnest kiss. Their lips move seamlessly, slow and soft, and as they grow fractionally bolder their tongues begin a tentative exploration. Phillip trembles with a wanting sigh when they brush for the first time. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes, only that it’s with great reluctance Phineas eventually pulls away, turning his head to stifle a wide, weary yawn.

Phillip’s brow furrows, realisation creeping up through the blissful haze. “You need to sleep,” he says, turning towards the window where the sky is growing steadily brighter. “How much sleep have you had?” 

Phineas shrugs. “About two hours before I got here.” 

“Two ho- I can’t believe I let you send me to bed,” Phillip groans. 

“As if you were in a better state,” Phineas sniffs, smothering a startled sound when Phillip easily flips them over, pressing Phineas down into the covers with his face inches above Phineas’ own. 

“But I am now, thanks to someone,” he hums, pressing another soft kiss to Phineas’ lips, long and lingering like he can’t get enough. “Go to sleep.” 

Phineas harrumphs, but stretches out with a groan as Phillip climbs off the bed. 

“I’ll let the circus know you’ll be late in today.” 

His words go unheard; Phineas is already snoring.

\---

Consciousness returns with the high pitched whine of a fussing child, muted as it is by the bedroom wall. It doesn’t take long before he can hear Phillip’s approaching footsteps and his soothing indistinct words of comfort. Rosie’s whines become quieter disgruntled sounds, and Phineas decides that Phillip’s amused laughter is the sweetest sound to hear in the morning.

As the noises fade on their way back to the kitchen, Phineas sits up with a groan and a stretch, figuring he may as well start his day too, and opens his eyes to a room filled with weak autumn sunlight. Swinging his feet to the floor, he wanders out of the bedroom and through to the kitchen. 

Phillip is standing at the sink bottle-feeding Rosie when Phineas enters; he imagines he must make quite the sight with his creased shirt and ruffled hair, scratching his chin with its bristly overgrown stubble. Phillip, to his credit, doesn’t react beyond an upward twitch of his eyebrow.

“Good morning,” Phillip nods in greeting, which comes across strangely reserved in Phineas’ mind. “How are you feeling?”

Phineas hums, forehead creasing as if he’s giving the question deep consideration. “Fine,” he says at last, “Rested. But my morning could certainly be improved with a kiss.”

He grins as Phillip visibly perks up and tries to school his reaction all at once, but he needs no further invitation as he crosses the kitchen. Phineas receives him with a hand to Phillip’s cheek, guiding him into a kiss which elicits the same pleasant flutter in his chest as it did hours before. 

“Are you on your toes?” Phineas rumbles against Phillip’s lips, and the younger man not-so-subtly drops an inch or two back to the floor, cheeks flushed. “Trying not to squash a baby between us makes it a bit more difficult.” 

“A valid point,” Phineas smirks, looking down at Rosie between them who continues to suckle away at her bottle, undisturbed by their antics. “And how is our little warrior this morning?” 

A sound catches in Phillip’s throat and he coughs to mask it. “Better, much better, actually. Still rather bad-tempered, but you slept through her first and worst tantrum of the day so far.” 

Phineas nods, pleased. “She certainly has Anne’s tenacity.” He’s then regarding Phillip with a pointed expression. “On to a more curious matter. Did you somehow think I had forgotten what happened last night?” 

Phillip looks abashed and averts his gaze. “I figured there was enough time in between for you to come to your senses. 

“Phillip Carlyle,” Phineas chides, then carries on with a flourish; “I promote the fantastical, exaggerate the impossible, and-” he brings the man close for another short kiss, finishing in a murmur against his lips. “-I am completely at home in the nonsensical.” 

“You’re also insufferable,” Phillip mutters with a smothered grin. “And unkempt. Go make yourself presentable, you’re not leaving here looking like a Sunday drunkard.” 

“We met on a Sunday, didn’t we?” Phineas muses.

Phillip points a finger at him. “I always looked presentable.”

Exchanging grins, Phineas goes to clean up. 

\---

“So I sent a message to the circus this morning making everyone aware you won’t be in until at least two. That should give you plenty of time to collate the stock checks so we can arrange the next order with our suppliers before you have practice overview at four.” 

Phineas bites into his toast, absently humming along with Phillip as he makes their coffee. Phillip sets the mugs down and sits opposite Phineas, looking unimpressed. “You could at least put some effort into pretending to listen.” 

Phineas smiles his most charming smile, propping his chin on his fist. “But then you wouldn’t get grumpy at me.”

Phillip rolls his eyes.

“And what’s on your agenda today?” Phineas asks. 

Phillip leans back in his chair, casually draping one arm over the back of it as he drums his fingers on the table. “I need to go to the market and get a gift for Bernard for letting me borrow his valet, on top of waking him up at some forsaken hour. And a small something for Edward too.” Phineas nods, taking a mouthful of his coffee. “I’ll also need to arrange for repairs to Rosie’s carriage, I can’t return it to Anne in its current condition. Although I don’t know where to start looking for that…”

Phineas puts his mug down, expression thoughtful. “It sounds like you have a busy day. How about you run your errands for the Pendletons and their valet, and I take Rosie with me to the circus? It wouldn’t hurt to free yourself up for a couple hours. There will also be plenty of extra hands to help with Rosie while I get those stock lists checked,” Phineas adds when Phillip hesitates. 

“Are you sure? It _would_ be easier getting around without the carriage…” 

“Of course I’m sure, it would be no trouble. You can even pick her up after you’ve put your feet up for a couple hours.” 

Phillip rubs a finger across his lips thoughtfully. “Alright,” he agrees, “But no one finds out about what happened. They’d never let me take Rosie back.”

“You have a deal. Lettie will be thrilled,” Phineas smiles. 

Phillip sighs and drinks his coffee; he couldn’t argue with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***** This is a very controversial and outdated practice and not reflective of Phineas’ parenting abilities. It is not recommended to give any amount of alcohol to children, especially infants. This was merely a very commonplace practice believed to improve their sleep when ill/teething/etc. and was included for added authenticity.  
> (Lets just ignore the modern baby care practices that have snuck in as well.)
> 
> Many thanks to Taka and Eve for proofreading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay getting the final chapter up, but here it is and I hope you enjoy the thrilling conclusion! Big thanks to [Taka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/picnokinesis) and [Eve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolbeep) for beta-reading!!

Phineas insists on shooing Phillip out the door earlier rather than later, allowing him to ready Rosie for the day and arrive at the circus by quarter past one. 

He can feel the level of excitement in the circus jump as he enters wheeling Rosie’s carriage, and his usual greetings are replaced by questions of Phillip’s whereabouts and Rosie’s presence. 

“Good afternoon to you too, everyone. Yes I’m well, thank you for asking.” 

“Yeah, yeah, Barnum, cut to the chase already. What have you done with Ringmaster two?” Charles snarks, hoisting himself up onto the side of the carriage so he can peer inside, waggling his finger above Rosie’s face to her immense delight. 

“Phillip is running errands and I offered to take Rosie, since you all seemed so thrilled to have her around.”

“So we’re P.T. Barnum’s glorified nanny service now, are we?” 

Phineas smiles. “The General doth protest too much.”

Charles' eyes light up with mischief. “Well, now we know why you’re so late; too busy waxing poetry late into the night with Carlyle,” he sniggers as he hops off the carriage, earning grins and snickers from the surrounding oddities. 

Phineas’ laugh is more shock than amusement, caught off-guard by the remark. “And I’m sure I can trust you not to say a word to him about poetry or otherwise —

he’s only recently stopped penning sonnets on our business report,” he responds smoothly with a pointed look.

“You got it, Barnum,” Charles winks, and Phineas barely contains a long suffering sigh. 

“Alright, enough fun, go back to whatever you were doing, you can all catch up at the break.” He takes his opening to escape, but heads backstage rather than his office. Navigating the baby carriage around props and chaise longues, he finally arrives at the ladies dressing area, an open topped room constructed of four tall wooden set walls. 

He knocks on the door and waits for the familiar assonant voice to call him in. 

“Door’s open.”

The room interior is a stark contrast to its bare exterior walls. Decorated with wallpaper, fabrics, and costume sketches, with sofas and chairs forming a comfortable seating area and dressing tables lining one wall, it made for a cosy, personalised retreat. 

Lettie emits a joyous sound of surprise from the corner, setting aside Constatine’s cape which she was in the middle of darning. Brushing down her skirt, she hurries over to meet Phineas as he maneuvers the stroller into the room.

“If it isn’t my favourite little chick,” she coos, lifting Rosie from her basket as she burbles happily around her fingers. 

“Did anyone actually say hello to Phillip when he visited last week?” Phineas asks the otherwise empty room, and Lettie rolls her eyes. 

“Oh don’t be so dramatic,” she chides with a smile. Something catches her eye and she frowns. “What happened to the carriage?”

“That, my dear, is the reason rich men have coachmen,” Phineas replies without missing a beat. “Phillip wants to get it repaired before Anne returns but doesn’t know where to start; I thought you might have an idea?” 

Lettie hums thoughtfully and bends over to inspect the damage. “It doesn’t look too bad, though it certainly needs a good clean. Some of the wicker has broken, but besides that and some chipped paint on the frame it’s in good shape. Goodness knows how he managed it though.” Lettie shakes her head. “Leave it with me, it will soon be good as new.”    


“You’re amazing,” Phineas beams, kissing the woman’s cheek as she chuckles. “I don’t suppose I could ask another favour?” 

Lettie raises a brow. “I don’t know, you’re pushing it now, Barnum,” she snorts. 

“Phillip was rather insistent I get the stock lists done today…”

Lettie waves him away. “On you go, I’ll look after Rosie. Just make sure you do those lists. I don’t want Phillip sulking around because you’ve not done them,” she warns. 

“They’ll be my top priority,” he promises, waggling his fingers in farewell to Rosie. He mouths an appreciative ‘thank you’ to Lettie around the door on his way out.

* * *

Phillip arrives at the circus halfway through practice and is quick to spot Phineas sitting in the stand. He makes his way around the edge of the ring to join him from his spot overseeing the troupe. 

“Productive day?” Phineas asks, toe-tapping to the music as Phillip drops down next to him.

“Bernard was very happy with his bottle of port, and I just slipped Edward a few notes, he seemed content with that,” he replies. “How’s Rosie?”

“An angel as always,” Phineas preens.

“You’ve not seen her at all this afternoon, have you?” It’s more a statement than a question, and Phineas waves it off. “I got the checklists done,” he says instead, proudly procuring some papers from his pocket. 

Phillip takes them from him, quickly scanning through the compiled lists with an approving nod. “I’ll get in touch with our suppliers in that case; it doesn’t hurt to have extra bales for the animals around so I’ll include those too.” 

“Already eager to get back to work, I see.”

Phillip lets out a short huff of laughter. “I do miss it, paperwork included,” he grins. “Not that it isn’t wonderful having Rosie around.” 

“Well, you’ve pretty much gone through everything parenthood could throw at you in a week, I’d say you’re ready to push the boat out.” 

The younger man looks thoughtful, nodding in agreement, “I think you might be-”

“We don’t mean to interrupt, but I believe there’s a rehearsal you’re meant to be overseeing?” They both look down to see that the practice session had seemingly derailed some time ago, with several of the troupe lounging against the ring borders or leaning back on their hands, watching the ringmasters converse in the stands. Nea postures at the front with her hands on her hips, the one to call them out for their lack of attention.

Phillip holds up a hand apologetically. “Sorry, everyone.” 

Phineas stands and dusts off his trousers. “Well, since you’re all intent on having a mid-practice break,” he says instead, beginning to step his way down the rows of seats. He stops on the bottom-most row of the stands, pulling a piece of paper from his inner pocket. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to update you all on our intrepid Wheeler siblings. Are you going to join us, Phillip?” 

Phillip straightens in surprise, quickly hopping down the stands after the ringmaster to join the interested huddle that had formed around him. 

Phineas clears his throat and brandishes the telegram.

_ Mr Barnum. _

_ We have arrived safely in New Orleans and our mother is thankfully still with us. She is making a slow recovery but the doctors are confident she will be fine. We will be back in three weeks. I hope everyone is well and Carlyle has kept Rosie in one piece. _

_ W.D. Wheeler. _

“He did not write that-” Phillip snatches the telegram from Barnum’s hand, but goes quiet with a chastened expression after a quick skim of the message.

Phineas grins. “He did, indeed, write that,” he informs the troupe who laugh goodnaturedly, tinging Phillip’s cheeks pink.

“Are you lot having a little soirée out here and didn’t invite us?” 

Lettie’s jovial voice carries easily across the tent as she approaches the group, Rosie tucked against her breast. 

“Lettie, it’s never a party until you arrive,” Phineas assures her with a broad, toothy grin, and Lettie laughs at his easy charm. 

“Well, since there’s already an audience, I have a little something to present,” she announces, turning to look over her shoulder. “Bring it in!” she calls, and the assembled oddities shift with interest, peering over each other to see what was being wheeled in.

It was Rosie’s carriage, pushed by O’Malley with Deng Yang and Samson the Albino Man in step. The carriage is freshly scrubbed, the wicker as pristine as the day it had been purchased, with a new patchwork fabric lining the interior and silk lace trim along the canopy. As they pull up to the stands Phineas can’t see any evidence of the previous damage to the wicker, and the chipped paint on the framework has been covered in a fresh new coat of pastel pink.

“That looks marvelous!” Phineas appraises, giving Phillip’s shoulder a firm squeeze so the man would pick up his jaw from the floor. 

Phillip gives himself a subtle shake, mouth clicking closed for the brief pause it takes him to formulate a response, “I- yes, you’ve done an amazing job, it looks good as new!” 

Phineas pretends not to see Phillip trying to make eye contact in his peripheral until the younger man gives up, instead going to take Rosie off Lettie’s hands when the infant starts to fuss. 

“You’re certainly going to be leaving here in style, now, aren’t you?” Phillip coos, melting just that little bit when Rosie’s face lights up at the sight of him, her head immediately coming to rest against the crook of his neck with a babble of contented nonsense. 

“Thank you, Lettie, the carriage looks great,” he says more quietly, and the woman chuckles. 

“You’re welcome, hun, it just takes knowing the right people with the right skills,” she replies with a nod to her accomplices. 

“I’ll give you bonus pay if you confirm O’Malley did the lace,” Phillip mutters under his breath, and Lettie laughs high and loud. 

“Carlyle, I wouldn’t need an incentive to start spreading that around,” she winks, startling a laugh from Phillip as well. 

Several loud claps break up the murmur of renewed conversation, and as Phineas sends the performers back to their places, Phillip takes the time to thank O’Malley, Deng, and Samson for their part in the carriage repair. 

“So, am I in trouble?” A familiar husky voice murmurs in Phillip’s ear, and it takes a significant effort for him not to jump at the sudden proximity. Phineas steps back with a sly grin as Phillip readjusts Rosie, now dozing against his shoulder.

“As meddlesome as you can be, no,” Phillip huffs, failing to mask his smile. “Thank you for doing that, I never would have thought to ask anyone here,” he admits. 

“You’ll never know someone who can do everything, but you’ll always know someone who can do something. And they’ll likely have friends,” Phineas hums with a tap to the side of his nose, appreciating Phillip’s genuine surprise at the statement. 

“Spoken like a true impresario,” Phillip remarks, but there’s only fondness in his tone. 

“Would you care to join me in the office before you depart for the evening? We can discuss your greatly anticipated return over a drink,” he offers, tilting his head a fraction with a smile that promised something sweeter.

He’s confident in the appeal of his offer, especially when Phillip wets his lower lip in a way that makes Phineas long to kiss him then and there, so it comes as a surprise when Phillip instead walks past him and places Rosie gently in her carriage. 

“Unfortunately, I need to get Rosie home before she naps too long. She still has to be bathed and fed before I put her down for the night.” He gives Phineas an apologetic look, but as he makes to pass the ringmaster on his way to the exit, he stops and quietly murmurs “But you’re welcome to stop by for that drink afterwards, if you’re still interested?”

Phineas’ exhales deeply, fingers twitching with the desire to reach out and caress Phillip’s cheek, to tilt his chin up so their eyes would meet. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

With a small smile, Phillip glances up to briefly meet Phineas’ gaze. “Tonight,” he confirms.

* * *

Over the next few days they begin to integrate Phillip back into the daily management of the circus. Starting with only a couple of hours in the afternoon, they gradually increase until Phillip is once again able to take part in the rehearsals. 

Phineas is confident Phillip will be back in the show by the middle of next week if he maintained his current pace. By the unflagging exhilaration clear on his face when he had his cane and hat in hand, stood amongst the troupe in the spotlight, Phineas had no doubt at all he’d be ready.

He also hadn’t realised how much he missed Phillip’s company until the man was back at his desk. Whether it was casually discussing Bennett’s latest article or sniping at him about paperwork with coffee rings, a liveliness had returned to the office that Phineas hadn’t known was missing. 

The hours not filled with their snark and banter, but rather the quiet scratch and rustle of pens on paper, turn out to be just as pleasing; the coy smiles and their hands brushing as they work is a pleasant new development. 

Outside of the circus, Phineas finds himself more often than not at Phillip’s apartment, their time split between caring for Rosie - who was becoming more mobile and talkative by the day - and slowly exploring this new relationship developing between them.

His favourite moments were those which incorporated both. The evenings spent reading on the couch with Phillip’s head on his lap. Running his fingers idly through chestnut hair while the younger man lay stretched out across the cushions, his shirt unbuttoned so he could lie skin to skin with Rosie on his chest.

“Phin, Phin look,” Phillip breathes excitedly. 

His fingers fall still in Phillip's hair and he lowers his book, glancing over to see what had thrilled Phillip so. He beams when he discovers it’s Rosie, pushing herself up on soft stubby arms and lifting her head to give Phineas a wide toothless smile. 

“Well hello there, little miss,” he coos, and Rosie erupts into bubbly laughter, little legs kicking against Phillip’s abdomen as she turns her head to look at everything around her with a profound curiosity. 

“She’ll be sitting up by herself in no time,” Phineas murmurs. Phillip caresses Rosie’s cheek, his thumb pale against her soft bronze skin, and Phineas can feel him tremble with suppressed laughter as she promptly takes hold of his thumb and inserts it into her mouth. 

“How can anyone bear them growing up so fast?” Phillip mumbles back, and Phineas chuckles softly. 

“I don’t know, I certainly never could. But, as they grow they bring new little wonders that make you love them more and more, more than you ever thought possible.” 

Running his hand from Phillip’s hair down to cup his cheek, he leans over to plant a tender upside down kiss to his lips that Phillip tilts his head back to receive. Phillip’s pleased hum makes his lips tingle, and a contentment Phineas hasn’t felt in months washes over him; a sentiment he can see reflected in Phillip’s eyes as he gazes up at him, smiling faintly with Rosie cuddled to his chest.

There are words he wants to say, feelings that flutter fast and slow and soft and wild against his ribs whenever Phillip is within sight, whether they’re sitting side by side at their desks or standing across the ring from one another. But the feelings are most palpable, most overpowering, when they’re like this, when Phillip lies openhearted and content, so comfortable in Phineas’ presence that he bares a vulnerability and tenderness rarely seen beyond closed doors. He kisses Phillip again and again, soft promises and declarations sealed with every one. 

“Phin?” Phillip murmurs between a slow succession, and Phineas breathes out a long breath against those soft, wondrous lips, unable to articulate the feelings entwined with every fibre of his being.

“Sorry, I…"   
  
“It’s ok,” Phillip murmurs with a delicate, understanding smile. “Me too.” 

Phineas smiles back, chuckling quietly. They share one last lingering kiss before Phineas finally leans back and returns to his book, fingers once again running leisurely through Phillip’s hair as the younger man dozes contentedly, head cushioned on his lap. 

With Rosie’s sleepy noises accompanying the crackle of the fire, everything is perfect.

* * *

Phineas can hear the last notes of the finale die down in the main tent, barely muted by the canvas and office walls. The rumble of applause washes over him even at this distance from the main activities, and it makes his spirits lift as he imagines the performers bathing in the praise and adoration for their efforts. And most of all the ringmaster, whose nerves had aggregated during his break and only just started to wane.

He stands from the couch and crosses to his desk, resting his hip against the corner of it as he looks expectantly at the door. Sure enough, it soon flies open. The sight that greets him grows more glorious with every show; Phillip resplendent in his red and gold jacket, skin asheen with exertion, and eyes practically alight. His grin is just as wild, the adrenaline still coursing through his system and making every nerve spark with alacrity.

He should have expected the kiss; when Phillip was like this he was impulsive, spontaneous, completely driven by passion, and it completely subdues Phineas as Phillip cups his face and pulls him down into a searing, electric kiss. Any immediate response is curbed by pleasure, and he’s at risk of being consumed by the amative fog that descends on him in time with Phillip’s lips.

With immense effort he manages to brace his hands on Phillip’s shoulders, pushing him back just enough to break their kiss and breathlessly mumble “Phil- Phil, we have guests.”

There’s a distinct delay as Phillip tries to resume their kiss, but the moment his words penetrate the small rational part of him still remaining, the response is abrupt. Just short of throwing himself backwards, Phillip tears himself away from Phineas, eyes wide and startled as the colour drains from his cheeks.

“Anne?!” His voice is pinched somewhere between delight and dismay. 

Anne and WD sit silently on the couch, Rosie held in Anne’s lap and joyously clapping her tiny hands. Smiling smugly and without taking her eyes off the ringmasters, Anne says quite simply, “I told you.”

WD, whose expression isn’t too dissimilar from Phillip’s at this point, raises a hand to rub the back of his head as he slowly shakes it to and fro. “You’re right. You did, you did say,” he returns amiably. Phillip’s blush returns as quickly as it had fled.

Phineas clears his throat, turning back to the Wheeler siblings as if he couldn’t still taste the heat of Phillip’s kiss, or that the man in question wasn’t clearly wishing the floor would swallow him whole. 

“As I was saying, it’s wonderful to have you back with us sooner than anticipated, everyone will be delighted to see you. And of course you’re welcome to remain on leave until your original return date.” 

“Thanks, Mr B,” WD nods, taking Rosie onto his lap as Anne passes her over. She approaches Phillip with her arms opening wide, and Phillip returns the gesture in a heartbeat, hugging her tightly to his chest. His hand finds a place in her swath of rich brown curls, cradling her head with a tender affection. 

“I’m glad you’re back safe,” he murmurs, and Anne squeezes a fraction tighter. 

“Thank you, thank you for taking care of her,” Anne whispers back. They release each other and Phillip’s hand briefly cups Anne’s cheek before taking both her hands in his. 

“It was my pleasure. I’m here for you and Rosie, always.”

WD looks on with silent approval while Phineas tries not to let his expression falter; Anne smiles like a woman never broken, and Phillip looks at her like a man never meant for anyone else. 

Phineas claps his hands and rubs his palms together. “Well, I imagine we’ve given everyone enough time to clean up, how about we go and share the good news about your early return? If you feel up to it after your long journey, that is,” Phineas amends.

“I wouldn’t mind a little hubbub before bed. Anne?” WD queries. He takes Rosie under the arms and lifts her up, teetering her gently in the air so she does a little dance over his legs. Her laughter is high-pitched and ecstatic. “I know a little someone who’d never turn down a fuss,” he tempts. Anne laughs, and Phillip releases her hands so she can take back her daughter. Sitting the babe against her side, she cups her face and presses a long, heartfelt kiss to Rosie’s crown. 

“It would be nice to see everyone, but only for a little while; I don’t want to keep her up too late,” she concedes, and WD hops to his feet with a winsome grin. They head towards the door with Phineas a step behind, and Phillip moves aside to let them pass. Before Phineas can follow them out of the office, Phillip encircles his wrist in a light grip, sliding his hand further down to hook his index and middle finger around Phineas’ own. 

“Are you ok?” Phillip asks. 

Phineas stops with a questioning look, eyebrows cocking upwards in surprise. He forces his grin a fraction wider. “Of course,” he huffs with amusement. “You’d best get changed, or you’ll miss the whole reunion.” 

He slips easily from Phillip’s hold and closes the door behind him, trying not to dwell on how difficult it suddenly is to smile as he lied.

\---

The response to the Wheelers’ early return is a bombastic one. The excited cries of Lettie, both sets of twins, the fire breathers, and Deng Yan’s assistant, Lucy, are startling in pitch, and Fedor playfully wolf-howls along as they all flock around Anne with open arms. The commotion quickly draws more attention, and before long performers and backstage crew are streaming back into the tent as word spreads. Phineas watches from the sidelines as Constantine, Jeremy and Demetri — with Charles underarm — quick-step into the fray to greet the siblings, welcoming WD back with back-slaps and hugs of his own.

“This calls for drinks,” Lettie announces over the growing ruckus. 

“A fantastic idea,” Phillip agrees from the gangway overhead, standing outside the office freshly changed with a bottle of champagne in either hand. “If someone wouldn’t mind grabbing the glasses?” He makes his way down to excited whoops and hollers, Chang and Eng, with Sal and Julius close behind, ducking out of the ring to fetch the requested glassware. 

As the corks are freed from the bottles with loud pops and fountains of froth, the contents sloshed generously into waiting glasses, Phineas uses the distraction to retreat unnoticed behind the stands. It would be rude to leave before the festivities had even begun, but with his usual inclination to laugh and drink strangely absent, he reasons it a suitable compromise to oversee from the shadows. 

It takes little motivation for the troupe to escalate celebratory drinks to a full on party, but to their credit it remains relatively tame, a lively social affair one could say. WD and Anne tell stories from their travels and update them on their mother’s condition - stable and improving every day, thankfully - before they break into smaller circles, the troupe eagerly recounting the latest news circulating the circus that even Phineas himself likely wasn’t privy to.

He can’t help but track Phillip through the crowd, sipping sparingly from a single glass of champagne as he moves between groups with comfortable ease. But as time goes on, Phineas starts to see the signs of agitation as Phillip casts furtive glances around the room mid-conversation. He moves on with more frequency, always warm and polite as he does so, but never managing to find who he’s looking for.

His search becomes waylaid, or is perhaps concluded, when Anne touches his arm and he turns to her with a delighted grin. She takes his hand, and it requires no further encouragement for Phillip to follow. His brow rises in curiosity but his smile never once falters as they disappear from view.

Phineas shifts his weight to lean against the support beam to his left, the hard press of the wood against his arm providing little distraction from the overbearing  _ tick tick tick _ of his mind. Was he being over-reactive? Self-destructive? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time, though Phineas would be far from the first to admit it. But it doesn’t dispel the hollow feeling in his stomach, a feeling which echoed somewhere even deeper inside him, somewhere cavernous and cold. He may have been a man that constructed worlds of splendor and magic, but he was not impractical, he was not selfish, not with the ones he loved. At least, not anymore... 

“There you are,” comes a familiar voice. With the briefest sound of movement behind him, Phillip appears on the other side of the beam, looking through the seating at the party dying down beyond. “You know, I’d wager you get a better view from atop the stands rather than behind them,” he says conversationally. 

“This is a perfectly suitable place to supervise from.”

“You’re brooding,” Phillip counters without preamble. Phineas vaguely wonders if Phillip had always been this blunt, or if he was rubbing off on his partner more than he thought. 

“I never really saw myself as the dark brooding type,” Phineas hums.

“The glitter and confetti may have something to do with that.”

Despite himself, Phineas finds the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. He glances at the other man to discover Phillip watching him, also smiling, but with an underlying concern clearly expressed through those revelatory blue eyes. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Phillip asks. 

Phineas shakes his head. “Not right now, it can wait. Where’s Anne?” 

“Gone to bed; she was exhausted and Rosie was already asleep. I’m thinking of heading home myself. It will be strange without anyone there...” 

His words trail off and Phillip makes a good show of looking at the lively theatrics of the remaining troupe, but Phineas is more than aware of Phillip’s attention, watching him from the corner of his eye beneath lowered lashes. 

The hesitation he feels is alien, unwanted, and he forces it away, reaching out to take Phillip’s hand in a reiteration of Phillip’s action earlier that evening, loosely interlocking their index and middle fingers. 

“Would you like company?” He asks, and Phillip looks up with a smile that brings warmth seeping back into Phineas’ skin.

“I would love company,” Phillip confirms, giving Phineas a tug by the fingers. Just like Phillip had done with Anne, Phineas follows without hesitation, his expression no doubt just as delighted. 

There’s a scintillation of excitement in Phillip’s touch and in the gleam of his eyes; it’s infectious, uplifting, and it intrigues Phineas without end. 

“And what has you in such high spirits? I know it wasn’t the drink.”

Phillip laughs, short and slightly breathless. “Anne and I talked for a bit before she retired for the evening, I can’t wait to tell you the news,” he says in a rush, and just like that, Phineas wonders if he has the strength to hold his smile any longer.

* * *

They make it into Phillip’s apartment more than a little windswept, their noses pinked by the oncoming winter. Phineas blows into his hands as Phillip shrugs off his coat and puts his hat aside; their scarves are hung up side by side on the coat rack.

“Would you like a drink?” Phillip offers as they move into the parlour. 

“Uh-no, no thank you,” Phineas replies, taking a seat on the couch, rubbing his palms distractedly over his thighs. He can see Phillip’s frown and his distinctive eyebrows draw together, but he thankfully doesn’t comment on Phineas’ unusual behaviour and rather turns to light the fire to bring some warmth into the room. 

“So, Anne took me aside earlier,” Phillip says, crouched on his haunches and piling several neatly chopped logs into the fireplace. The excitement practically vibrates from him. “And-”

“You should do it,” Phineas says before he can stop himself.

“-she - what?” Phillip stops, planting a knee on the hearth so he can turn and look at Phineas quizzically. Phineas can only hold his gaze for a moment before he looks down at his lap with a gusty sigh.

“Phil, I don’t want to keep you from everything you deserve. You’re a good man and you love Anne and Rosie dearly; you would make a fabulous father. I’ve had the opportunity to live a wonderful life; I met an amazing woman who I was lucky to call my wife for many years, and she gifted me two beautiful little girls. It would be selfish of me to keep that from you.”

He can feel the weight of Phillip’s stare linger on him, until he turns back to the fireplace without a word. Phineas looks up, watching Phillip’s back as the man finishes kindling the fire with measured movements, the air thick in Phineas’ throat. 

Pushing himself to his feet, Phillip crosses the floor to sit next to Phineas on the couch, back bowed as he rests his elbows on his knees. “Is that what’s been bothering you all evening?” he asks quietly.

Phineas doesn’t respond and Phillip frowns, taking his silence as confirmation. “Phineas, what I want....that’s not for you to decide. I love Anne and Rosie, but I’m content with the role I have in their lives.” He leans forward, slow and careful with his hand resting on Phineas’ knee, and coaxes the older man into a slow, intimate kiss. They part with barely a hair’s breadth between their lips. “I want to be with you, but I need to know you want to be with me too.”

“Of course I do!” Phineas protests, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I want you to be happy.”

“And you don’t think you’ll make me happy?”

“I can’t give you everything you deserve.” 

Phillip laughs. “Finally, Phineas Taylor Barnum admits he’s merely a mortal man like the rest of us,” he teases, kissing away Phineas’ frown. “I appreciate that you want the best for me.” Another kiss. “But I won’t let you deny us both happiness now.” A longer, more intense kiss follows. His voice softens, “which for all we know, may be all the happiness we need.”

“When did you become so good with words?” Phineas hums, a small, relieved smile finding its way back. 

“Well, I try not to brag, but I may have dabbled at some point,” he smirks. Phineas chuckles and kisses Phillip intently. They lose themselves to the feel of each other’s lips, noses bumping and hands finding purchase on shoulders and in dark curly hair. 

“Hmm- wait,” Phineas mumbles, “Then what was your news?” he asks. Phillip sits back, his earlier excitement reignited with the reminder. 

He grins brightly, shoulders proudly drawn back. “Anne asked me to be Rosie’s Godfather,” he reveals. “I accepted, of course.” 

“That’s wonderful!” Phineas exclaims, then chuckles sheepishly. “I suppose I may have overreacted.”

Phillip hums, eyebrow arching upwards, “Perhaps slightly,” he agrees, voice low and infinitely amused. Phineas kisses that smile away, lips trailing along Phillip’s jaw until his lofty expression gives way to something softer and more wanting. 

He plants one last teasingly light kiss to Phillip’s mouth.

“Now I can’t help but wonder how you’re going to cope without little Rosie here to keep you on your toes...” Phineas muses playfully, not expecting Phillip’s smirk to broaden. 

He nudges Phineas, leaning in to kiss him deeply while crowding his space until Phineas is forced back into the corner of the couch. 

“I have a solution for that, too,” Phillip murmurs, leaving Phineas dazed and languid as he suddenly gets off the couch and disappears into another room. 

“Phil?” Phineas calls, pushing himself upright. Phillip returns with Phineas’ book in one hand and an obscured item carried under his other arm. He hands Phineas his book as he passes, then stretches out on the couch, head resting on Phineas’ lap in a familiar position.

Phineas laughter is explosive when he realises Phillip has brought a bag of flour to cradle against his chest.  “I’ve been led to believe it’s just as authentic as the real thing,” he grins, and Phineas shakes his head, still chuckling. 

“You are something else, Carlyle,” he murmurs fondly, leaning down to press one more chaste kiss to his lips. Phillip’s eyes glint cheekily as he grins up at Phineas, before his eyes flutter close and he relaxes with a sigh. Phineas takes some time to appreciate the moment, the sight and serenity and the weight against his leg warming him far beyond the reaches of the fire which sparked and flickered in the grate.

He smiles, soft, blissful, content, and cracking open his book, he begins to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts and comments are always welcome and greatly appreciated. Thank you for taking the time to read my longest fic to date, I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
